Something About Malfoy
by skepsis66
Summary: DISCONTINUED. A day in the life of Hermione Granger doesn't include being partnered with Malfoy for a Charms Project. But many things have changed in 7th year, with Malfoy being one of them, and you never know what can happen...
1. The Quirks of Curiosity

**Something About Malfoy**

**~ skepsis66**

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****Disclaimer: **I do not own any of the characters in this fanfiction as they are the property and product of the wonderful imagination of J. K. Rowling. They only thing I own so far is the plot. If I include any random characters that have names that cannot be found in any of the Harry Potter books into this story later, then and only then will anything belong to me.

**A/N: **My first fanfiction! I'm so excited. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Updating may pose a problem since this is my first time, but I'll do my best.

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**Chapter One:**** The Quirks of Curiosity**

_Swoosh. Clatter. Swipe. Swoosh. Clatter. Swipe. Swoosh. Clatter. Swipe._

Hermione glanced irritably across the table at her source of annoyance – namely, _the _Draco Malfoy.

His quill had never stopped moving in the half hour they had been here already – though, to her chagrin, not because he was writing and contributing generously to their _combined_ project, but because it was still dancing the complex swirling pattern his pale right hand was directing it to. She never really expected him to help much; everyone knew that the day that Malfoy cooperated with somebody other than the pureblooded dimwits he called friends, much less a muggleborn, was the day that the world would end.

But one would expect him to at least contribute something to this project that was as much his as well as Hermione's – it was worth thirty percent of their total Charms mark. But honestly, Hermione didn't think that this torture was beneath him – the smug idiot that he was. It offended her even more that he wasn't nearly as intellectually incompetent as she would like to think and that his marks were only marginally behind hers when he didn't seem to do any study at all.

He was impossible, Hermione decided angrily, he had not even bothered to lift one finger to help her in _their _project – the keyword being _their._ His expensively-clad feet lay insolently crossed on the library table they were working at as he lounged lazily in his chair and continued to play with his quill, which Hermione highly suspected was inlaid with real gold. That was something else that bothered her to no end – how he would unashamedly flaunt his wealth in others' faces.

He had no respect for anyone either, Hermione thought – the way he looked down his aristocratic nose at everyone, including his 'friends' who would probably ditch him in a second if he wasn't a Malfoy. Just who did he think he was; strutting around like a puffed up peacock and crowing about how he was better than others. But Hermione had to give him credit; he always went about his insulting with a subtlety that was enough to convey his message, but not enough to be accused of doing anything wrong.

She glowered at him over her large pile of books as he continued to ignore her. While her side of the table was littered with books and scraps of parchment, which bore _her _hard work, his side was glaringly bare. They had not spoken a word to one another in their project session and the silence was getting rather oppressive. Hermione definitely wasn't going to be the first one to talk break the silence, or the ferret's rather large ego would inflate ten times again.

Argh! And the smirk that was constantly plastered to his stupid alabaster face made her hand itch with the urge to slap him silly. She wished that he would just fall off the chair and die – the day that happened would be the happiest day of her miserable existence. But humans didn't die so easily – and Malfoy, no matter how much Hermione wished, was still a human despite all his faults. Hermione brushed some stray curls away from her face and glared at him again as she contemplated this impossible situation.

Why Professor Flitwick had decided to pair them together for their Charms project was beyond her. It was clear that he was going senile if he thought this would, what did he say – _'work out wonderfully'_. Come on! To say that her and Malfoy did not get along would be the understatement of the year. They had seven years of hatred, enmity and the deepest loathing behind their _'wonderful' _relationship.

The name-calling and derisive attitude, despite all her denial, had undoubtedly hurt her. Every single jab that he made had made her heart twinge. She wasn't the most confident girl and definitely not the most beautiful or anything special. All she had were her smarts, and for Malfoy to bring her down about that was about the lowest thing anyone could do. That git had absolutely no idea what it was like to be an outsider to the wizarding world; what it was like to be looked down upon and teased.

He was the first person to call her a mudblood – and it had stung. Hermione couldn't understand what it was about her that was so bad. What had she ever done to him to deserve this? She had soon realized that she hadn't done anything to him – and frankly, to ridicule someone like that without cause was another one of the reasons that she had come to dislike him so much.

Hermione glanced up at Malfoy again and was surprised to see mercurial eyes gazing back at her. She had never really looked at his eyes before and it was slightly unnerving what she saw – or didn't see there. It was as if there was a wall behind his eyes that blocked everything he was feeling or thinking inside. The most that she could do was sense the intelligent person (as much as she hated to admit) that lay behind this wall of ice.

Her natural curiosity was slightly piqued. Hermione, despite all pretences, was curious about what had happened to make Malfoy so cold. Nobody was born that way – so his circumstances would have probably brought about the Malfoy sitting across from her. Her mind raced; come to think of it, he had been acting un-Malfoy-like this whole year…

She was startled out of her thoughts when a familiar drawl reached her ears.

"Why Granger, I always knew you had a thing for me – but I'm afraid you'll have to keep your hands to yourself, and your eyes for that matter. Even if I was taken, I think it would suffice to say that you're a little too domineering for my tastes."

Her eyes narrowed in indignation at him and all her previous thoughts flew out the window as he preened himself. She opened her mouth to retort.

"Domineering? Domineering? You think _I'm _Domineering? How ridiculous! If you want domineering, just look in the mirror at your lousy no good self! That's domineering! The way you look down your nose at everyone just because you think you're so good and order all your little Slytherin minions around. They would wipe your pale placid ass if you ordered them to – and with your laziness, I wouldn't be surprised if they did."

Malfoy smiled back at her smugly, "I'm astonished Granger, that you could come up with such a wonderful suggestion. I'll try it out tonight – see if it works as well as you say. I'll give you full credit for the development too if it works. Then again, you should really try it too – I'm sure Potty and the Weasel would love to comply."

Hermione bristled with rage and spluttered at his rudeness. "You know what, why don't you just crawl back to whatever hole you came out of with your little girlfriend Parkinson and do me a favour and die!"

"I'm afraid I can't make any promises – I'm not sure about Parkinson, but a Malfoy's word is always has to be upheld."

Hermione huffed as Malfoy smirked, knowing that he had won this argument. It was all in a day in the life of Hermione Granger and as expected, they went back to ignoring one another.

Hermione had never really thought about Malfoy that much before now, sitting stiffly with him at opposite ends of the large library table, but he had always come across to her as an arrogant, pureblooded and prejudiced slug. But there had been some changes that hadn't failed to escape her attention. After sixth year, no one had expected him to return to Hogwarts – no one had even known if it Hogwarts was opening again. Everyone was all surprise when he showed his face and strolled into the Great Hall as if nothing had happened.

Yes, there were rumours and whispered stories, but nobody really knew what had happened. Not even Slytherin House dared to question their king. So the rumours were just rumours and the stories were just stories; there was an unspoken agreement that the truth would remain a secret.

When Malfoy had come back, Hermione had expected the usual mudblood comments and back-handed stabs but so far this year, not a word had been uttered between them unless it was the strained polite phrases they were forced to speak in class or small offhand remarks about her appearance, studies or anything else just to annoy her. There were absolutely no comments about her parentage at all – to say she had been surprised would not have done this situation justice.

He didn't irritate Harry and Ron much anymore when passing them in the hallways or bait their volatile tempers. Sure he still insulted her quite a lot (much more than he did now to Harry and Ron), but it only seemed half-hearted – lacking the malice and satisfaction there was in his words during earlier years. It was just inexplicable.

Something about Draco Malfoy intrigued her – there always seemed to be an atmosphere of mystery that stalked his steps now-a-days. He was a mixture of everything that she hated and wanted. For one, he was confident, but displayed this through his arrogance. He was intelligent; his marks were only second to hers despite him seeming to do it without even studying. He was prejudiced, cold and calculating yet at the same time was commanding, elegant, and (no matter how much she denied it) rather handsome in a sharp sort of way.

But the one thing that was more infinitely intriguing to Hermione than any other of Malfoy's quirks was the air of loneliness that always seemed to envelop him. Despite all his 'friends', popularity, riches and his 'pure' lineage, he was, in her eyes, one of the loneliest people she had ever known. A queer observation, she knew, but true nonetheless.

Sneaking another look at Malfoy, she saw that he had finally ceased twirling his quill and had started to work. Hermione knew that there was something about Malfoy – and that she would never be satisfied until she found out what it was.

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**A/N: **Hope you liked it and I'm always open to suggestions to where the story's going.


	2. Appreciating Hate

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the characters in this chapter as you can see because they all belong to J. K. Rowling. The plot is obviously my own or else it's called plagiarism and I would be kicked off Fanfiction after only just joining.

**A/N: **So far, I don't really have any solid ideas of where this story is heading, only vague plot-bunnies nibbling at me here and there. So any suggestions are welcome. This chapter is basically Malfoy's perspective on the events (or lack of events) in the previous chapter. I assure you, something is actually going to happen after this so hang in there.

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**Chapter 2:**** Appreciating Hate**

_Swoosh. Clatter. Swipe. Swoosh. Clatter. Swipe. Swoosh. Clatter. Swipe._

It was fascinating the way how simple an object could move with such sophistication. The gold-inlaid feathered quill twirled elegantly in his hand, seeming to have a life of its own. His initials D.M glittered in the fading beams of sunlight that shone through the dusty library windows. Draco sighed lightly; there was nothing to do, nowhere to go and nobody to talk to – as usual.

He should really do something, Draco mused; it was _their _project after all. But it was just too much work; it would benefit him much more to stay like this and let Granger do all the work. It wasn't as if she would outright voice her objections. She didn't want to speak to him at all – she didn't want to be the first one to break the silence.

Draco saw the way she made her annoyance known; the little huffs of exasperation, poorly concealed glares and the regular rolling of her eyes. Really, it was just too easy to irritate her. A tossed taunt there and a self-satisfied smirk was all it took for her miniscule body to swell with anger and her eyes to glitter with ire. Oddly enough, it was always a comforting sight to see Granger react in that way. At least something was still normal in his life.

And the silence – it was becoming really uncomfortable, even though he would never admit it. He looked up to see Granger gazing at him intently – studying him; almost _measuring_ him. It was quite unnerving, her contemplative gaze. She had never done anything like that before – and for the life of him, Draco never wanted that to happen again.

It was as if she was trying to figure him out – like he was a mystifying code that she would stop at nothing to decipher. Frankly, it was scaring him. Nobody had ever had the gall to do what she was doing now – but then again, nobody had ever had the gall to punch him either. Draco felt like squirming, but everything he was went against it – Malfoys did not squirm, especially not because some girl was looking at him. The fact that the girl was Granger definitely made no difference. None at all.

Draco decided to take action, "Why Granger, I always knew you had a thing for me – but I'm afraid you'll have to keep your hands to yourself, and your eyes for that matter. Even if I was taken, I think it would suffice to say that you're a little too domineering for my tastes."

Predictably, her honey-brown eyes narrowed in indignation at him and opened her mouth to retort.

"Domineering? Domineering? You think _I'm _Domineering? How ridiculous! If you want domineering, just look in the mirror at your lousy no good self! That's domineering! The way you look down your nose at everyone just because you think you're so good and order all your little Slytherin minions around. They would wipe your pale placid ass if you ordered them to – and with your laziness, I wouldn't be surprised if they did."

He had to hand it to Granger – she came up with the some of the most inventive comebacks, for a Gryffindor that is. She was the only person who could give him such an entertaining time arguing. Potter and Weasley were all fists and brawn – no intelligence in their pea-sized brains at all. Draco didn't know what she saw in them, much less how she could consider them her best friends. Those so-called best friends only ignored her most of the time and begged her to do their homework.

Draco smiled back at her smugly, getting back into the argument, "I'm astonished Granger, that you could come up with such a wonderful suggestion. I'll try it out tonight – see if it works as well as you say. I'll give you full credit for the development too if it works. Then again, you should really try it too – I'm sure Potty and the Weasel would love to comply."

Granger's eyes lit up with rage and she seemed to grow significantly in stature; much like a cornered cat, Draco mused. "You know what, why don't you just crawl back to whatever hole you came out of with your little girlfriend Parkinson and do me a favour and die!"

"I'm afraid I can't make any promises – I'm not sure about Parkinson, but a Malfoy's word is always has to be upheld."

- And with that, they were done. He had won. She had lost. It was as simple as that – and they went back to ignoring one another. Draco couldn't help the feeling of disappointment that welled up within him – Granger may not have been the best person to communicate with, but she sure was good to take out his frustration on.

Granger was a great study of contradictions, Draco noted absently. She was usually a know-it-all bookworm – a perfect little prefect; a model of everything virtuous. Yet Draco knew that there was more to her than she cared to reveal or even admit to herself. He knew that it definitely wasn't her studious self, but something underneath that façade, that had allowed her to be provoked into punching him (and breaking his nose) that fateful day in third year.

Granger always appeared to be so happy and dandy in front of her friends. She always had a calm dispossession and displayed airy confidence in class. The teachers adored their little prodigy and the students looked up to and loved their Gryffindor princess. Many of the Slytherins, all high and mighty sitting on their pureblooded behinds, also grudgingly admired her – even though they would sooner welcome torture than confess it.

But away from the public's eye, some of Granger's confidence would waver. She would sit in her solitude and study the day away in an isolated corner of the vast Hogwart's Library. Occasionally, when silently passing her in the dim hallways, she seemed to him to be weary to the bone and almost burdened.

Draco shook himself out of his reverie and with a grunt he lifted his feet from the library table and conjured up a piece of parchment. He might as well begin to help Granger with their Charms project. Flitwick had confirmed his suspicions that he had lost his marbles by pairing them together – but then again, Draco thought that the short professor was certainly reaching the time for retirement. New blood wouldn't hurt, and neither would younger blood; some _much_ younger blood. And Binns; if Flitwick was already old enough, Binns must have been ancient.

Granger glanced up at him, and with a raised eyebrow and a surprised look on her face, resumed working. She obviously never expected Draco to work with her – nobody expected anything of him anymore, not even himself. But you never knew what might happen in the company of Granger all year, he thought wryly, she could even convince him to do some real work as unlikely as it was.

But she would most probably burst before any significant progress could be made and attempt to curse the living daylights out of him in a towering rage. Draco was had to swallow his pride to admit that he probably wouldn't be able to best Granger in a formal duel, which was obviously one of the saddest things that he had ever been forced to acknowledge. Not many people would have been able to and that was the way he wanted it to be.

He felt no small amount of bitterness that for all his life, his achievements were unknown and not acknowledged while Granger's were. Okay, she belonged in the 'Golden Trio' – so what? He grudgingly recognized that helping to save the Philosopher's stone, fighting against Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries debacle two years ago as well as defending Hogwarts against the aggressive attack last year was no small feat. But wherever she was, there were always friends to help – people who stood beside her.

He had always been alone. It was always 'Did you hear? Harry Potter was the youngest seeker in over a century!' What about the second youngest? Despite popular opinion, he didn't buy his way onto the team like Granger mockingly suggested. Just because his father had money and influence didn't mean he couldn't do anything himself. That had always been a sore point for him.

Nobody knew exactly what happened last year either. If he wasn't entirely willing to 'do his duty' to the Dark bloody Lord at the beginning of the year, by the end of the year, he hadn't wanted to have anything to do with him at all. It had all changed when they took his mother as a hostage. Although she was outwardly snobby and cold, Draco knew that she loved him. She was the only person who meant anything to him anymore. And she would die; she would have died if he didn't compromise the many young lives of the Hogwarts students.

He may have looked up to his father in his youth, but as he spent more and more time away from the man, change had been inevitable. He could pinpoint the exact time when his final decision had been made about the Dark Lord – it had been during _the_ Holidays. He could remember everything about that night – everything. The fear, the all-consuming terror, the violence – No! He quickly suppressed the memories. Better not to remember it. He had promised not to dwell on it any longer.

It wouldn't do to let Granger see anything behind the wall. As he surfaced from his thoughts, he was surprised to find that the sun was setting – bathing their table in the blood-red glow of dying embers. He looked outside at the Hogwarts grounds, shimmering in the dappled light, and he felt her reach out to him. Hogwarts seemed worried about him. Draco reassured her that he was fine – and felt her sigh and give him a soft caress before leaving him again.

Hogwarts was sentient – that was very obvious. To Draco, Hogwarts had gradually become his home. When he was confused and lost about what to believe – when he slowly drifted away from his father, Hogwarts was there to calm him. She was like the protector that Draco had never had. She worried and doted and comforted him. She was always there. When he had shut himself off from her last year, Draco had noticed her worry and frustration. She had badgered him for over half a year before she finally gave up – and just became a constant hovering presence. He ignored her and she was hurt.

In reality, Draco was simply too ashamed and afraid of once again 'talking' to the castle he had betrayed. It was true though, he had betrayed her. It had taken him until three weeks into the new school year to work up enough courage to talk to Hogwarts again. He thought of actually admitting what he was doing was just made everything seem so terrifyingly real. It would make him see the gravity of the situation – how large and serious his decision was. When he did realize what he had done, it had been too late to change anything – he was too far along in the plans to do anything but stand aside and watch everything culminate and fall into place.

When Draco had once again tried to talk Hogwarts, he realized somehow that she understood everything that he had done even if she didn't condone his actions. When nobody else did, she had understood him – and had gone one step further by forgiving him. He didn't ask her and she didn't say it, but he knew. And for the first time since last year, he had been glad. Bitter, weary and scared, but glad nevertheless. Despite popular opinion, Draco, like everyone else, needed someone to trust in him, believe in him and support him, and Hogwarts did just that.

Draco vaguely noted that Hermione had ceased writing a while ago and was packing up her bags. She proceeded to give him a long, hard look. It was unreadable. Draco took this as a cue that this study session was over and began to collect his parchment and books. He was slightly unsettled by her look but ignored the feeling, opting to ask her about their next session. "Same time, same place, tomorrow?"

A curt "Fine" came as Granger's reply as she shouldered her bag and walked out of the library without a backwards glance.

Hermione Granger was an enigma, Draco decided as he swept back to his Slytherin dorms. She was an enigma that never failed to capture his attention, no matter at what time. It was amusing really – their relationship. He hated her – Draco had made that fact clear to her over the years. He hated her with every fibre of his being – hated her with an unnatural intensity that had only deepened every time he saw her. His hate was about the only constant in his life in the past few years.

So the one thing that Draco hated beyond all else had also been the one thing that was keeping him sane the tapestry of lies that was his teenaged life – a lighted beacon in an all-consuming storm, if you would. Draco snorted at the image – more like a burning, raging fire that would burn your hand off immediately after you navigated through the murky waters surrounding it. But, he had hung onto his hate as if his life depended on it last year. There was also the not so trivial fact that something drew him to her – something that simmered beneath her perfect little girl persona.

Draco was fascinated by her yet disliked her at the same time. The fact that he wasn't repulsed by Granger because of her blood or any other shit that his father had drilled into him since his childhood disturbed him slightly. He hated her because of some completely irrational reason – it was something that even he hadn't been able to identify since the day he had first met her. That in itself was a mystery – he had never before judged anyone solely on first sight.

By no means was his hate an all-consuming hate that Voldemort had for Potter, but it was a steady feeling that always followed him, wherever he saw her. Draco could always feel a maliciousness rising up in him when he saw her. He always had the urge to pepper her with derogatory comments and his cool temper would suddenly inflame. Even when he was feeling vaguely happy, which wasn't often, he would always react around her. It was simply inexplicable. Draco had decided that long ago.

Yes, theirs was a twisted relationship indeed. The funniest thing was, Granger didn't know it; she hadn't ever been able to see just how important she was to him last year – but then, who would. He never went about insulting her in public anymore, but made do with hating her silently – it was much more satisfying to imagine her reaction and him coming out the victor in their little bantering session anyway. Besides, there was always that mudblood, pureblood thing and all that rot.

But one thing was for sure, Draco decided as he lounged on his bed – the day Granger uncovered this little secret of his was the day his whole world would go up in flames.

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**A/N: **Second chapter done! I didn't think I would update so quickly, but the fact that its holidays helps. What did you think?


	3. A Charming Disposition

**Disclaimer: **I do not, in any way; physically, mentally or even spiritually for that matter, own any of the Harry Potter characters. They are all the property (and unfortunately aren't really in existence unless they are in a previously undiscovered parallel dimension) of J. K. Rowling.

**A/N: **I really hope more people will read my work. Thanks to all the people who have reviewed – I really appreciate your critique. I'm really sorry that it took me so long to update, but it's so hectic right now, even though it's only the start of school. Now, onto the story!

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**Chapter 3:**** A Charming Disposition**

Morning had never been Hermione's favourite time of day. She sat groggily at the Gryffindor table and put her head in the crook of her arms. She sighed. Life sucks sometimes, she contemplated, it seemed like an incredibly hard to pass test of endurance and patience devised by some devilish divine being in order to torture people.

She lifted her head delicately and placed some bacon and eggs onto her plate. Chewing slowly, she glanced at the two bleary-eyed males sitting on either side of her – it seemed that they all had one thing in common at least.

As Ron came to the realization that they had indeed arrived in the Great Hall, he brightened considerably at the prospect of breakfast. He piled unbelievable amounts of food onto his face and began bulldozing his way through it – becoming more awake by the second. He glanced at Hermione and smiled through his full mouth. Swallowing, he asked

"'Mione, wadda we have first up?"

She sighed and wearily scolded him,

"You should know Ron, how many times have I told you already this year? I swear, you never grow up!"

Ron smirked, "I didn't know you swore, Hermione; I would have never guessed – little miss perfect – swearing of all things. I'm surprised that you told us. But I'm happy that you trust us with such comvidental secrets."

"Ron," Hermione said in a deadpan voice, "it's con-fi-den-tial."

She hurriedly turned to Harry before Ron could see her amused smile.

"Harry would know, wouldn't you Harry? At least _he_ tries Ron, unlike certain people I know. Why don't you ask him for a change? He sleeps in the same dormitory as you do too."

"But Hermione…"

– she glared at him reproachfully.

"…I was, uh, just, um going to do that! Yeah!"

Nobody wanted to get in the way of Hermione Granger at breakfast – her grudges would then be cherished and nurtured all day until they were appeased in some way.

Harry snorted in amusement,

"Nice save Ron. I never figured you for the creative one."

Ron just smiled back confidently and shoved a spoonful of baked beans in his mouth.

"Um, fanks?"

Harry and Hermione laughed. Ron would always be Ron.

"So Harry, mate, what _is_ next?"

Harry glanced at him and shook his head lightly before answering.

"Double potions, and then Double Charms with…" he pulled out his timetable – "…the Slytherins."

Ron grimaced.

"Of all the bloody things they do, this has got to be the worst. What was Dumbledore thinking! Every single year, it's still the Slytherins – the slimy slugs – he must have realized somewhere along the line that it just doesn't work! And it never will! I'll bet'cha that in another fifty years time, it still won't work. I mean who would ever get along with stupid gits like them! Honestly – slithering around like they own the whole bloody world! If _I _was in charge of Hogwarts, _I _would have done something long ago about them. It would have been the…"

Harry just groaned. Ron was off on one of his 'I-Hate-Slytherins' speeches again. It was the one and only thing that could distract him for long from his beloved food. Ron was waving his long arms wildly and expressively in front of him. Hermione inched aside just a bit, you never know what might happen with Ron around – especially since he had gotten quite a bit stronger since last year.

"…and look at them now!" Ron continued, impassioned, "All puffed-up on their no-use asses. They just have to…"

"Ron." Hermione interrupted, "Dumbledore must have a good reason for doing this – if you thing about it, he's always had an ulterior motive that justifies any unsavoury situations we might experience. He has a right to keep his reasons to himself and you should respect his privacy."

"But Hermione, don't you think we have a right to know. This suffering _does_ take about _ten years_ away from our lives. Don't you hate the Slytherins too? We have a reason to be told why we're being put into life threatening situations."

"Don't be ridiculous Ron! I know they're bad, but they're not _that _bad – don't you look at me like that Ronald Weasley! Nobody is born inherently bad or evil or whatever you say Slytherins are."

Hermione's cheeks flushed slightly from the puzzled look that Ron was giving her. She frowned – couldn't Ron see beyond the house labels? Ron was still looking at her as if she had grown an extra head; correction – quite a few extra heads that looked remarkably like Fluffy's. Harry was looking at Ron and trying not to laugh at the spoonful of porridge that was starting to drip onto his lap.

Hermione shook her head and resumed eating her uneaten breakfast.

"…Well, I guess so Hermione…but Slytherins are still evil gits, I say. And what's enhar-inherartly?"

She smiled and exchanged looks with Harry – Ron would always be Ron.

"Now now class," the miniature professor squeaked, "pay attention – this is a very important unit of work and will definitely be examined in your NEWT's."

At this, Hermione noticeably sat up straighter and gave her full attention to Professor Flitwick. She brushed her messy curls away from her eyes and unknowingly put on what Harry and Ron had deemed the 'studying: don't distract me or else you'll regret it for the rest of your life' face.

She looked around quickly to Harry and Ron – and poked them; hard. Each rubbed their arms and glared at her at in what she had deemed their 'will you just let it rest' faces. As she was turning back, she saw Malfoy looking at her strangely, but dismissed it as some evil scheme of his to make her life miserable, like usual.

"Today, we will be learning about the _Aruendas _Charm. Can anyone tell me what it does? Ah, yes – "

Hermione's hand shot into the air.

– Mr Malfoy"

Hermione lowered her arm, disappointed, while Malfoy answered in his typical drawl,

"The _Aruendas _Charm is the conventional spell used if someone seeks to disguise themselves from others. Among other things, it helps to change one's appearance, voice, typical habits and other small things that identify them. It also replaces the person's memories with false ones under the spell, but the person regains them when the charm is lifted."

"Excellent answer Mr Malfoy. Ten points to Slytherin."

The Slytherins smirked. The Gryffindors grimaced.

Hermione looked across the room and met Malfoy's arrogant gaze. She narrowed her eyes at him, only to have him look away indifferently. She was rather surprised that Malfoy knew so much, but with her chagrin also came some appreciation – the _Aruendas _Charm was, after all, what they were researching for their combined project after all.

"Now, class, I want you all to partner up with your Charms partner and practice the _Aruendas_ Charm in turn on the animal you are sharing, which, for now, will be mice. As you all know, it is quite a complex spell – so do not be disappointed if you do not cast this spell correctly at all today. Look at how I perform the spell and watch the wrist movement – that is a very important part of the charm."

Squeaky Professor Flitwick proceeded to demonstrate the charm on the immobilized mouse on his desk. He moved his wand in two criss-crossing slashing movements, slightly like a horizontal figure eight, and then flicked his wand lightly.

The mouse suddenly glowed a bright violet, before the light subsided to reveal its new appearance. The Gryffindors began to roar in laughter, and even the Slytherins hid smiles: the mouse had doubled in size and was bright neon green with shaggy braided fur as long as its tail. Its eyes, which seemed to have doubled in size and changed to a honey yellow colour, bulged comically out of its head.

Staring menacingly at the classful of students, it opened its mouth and gave a large growl and attempted to pounce on Neville, who was sitting directly in front of it. It bared its miniscule teeth and roared impossibly loud. Neville turned a shade paler at this and the Gryffindors laughed even harder.

"As you can see," Professor Flitwick yelled over the students, "I have temporarily cast the charm on the mouse, making it believe that it is a lion. It should be changing back a few seconds from now."

Just as he uttered those words, the mouse glowed a bright blue and changed back to its normal size and appearance. It looked confused for a moment before squeaking and scuttling quickly away from the giant human that was sitting in front of it.

"As this is quite a hard charm, do not expect to get this on your first try, or even in this lesson. Now partner up and practice for the rest of the lesson."

Draco looked over at Hermione and sneered, leaning casually back in his chair. He wasn't going to move. It was a battle of wills – who would move first. Besides, it would be beneath him to move for his enemy. He watched with amusement as Granger fidgeted in her chair, always impatient to start learning but reluctant to give in and move over to the Slytherin side of the classroom. He knew she would crack first; he could wait all day if he had to. It would just take a while longer…

He sniggered inside as she gave a huff and pushed back her chair. It scraped loudly on the floor and she gave him a glare – as if it was all his fault. Well, it was technically his fault that she had to move, but could she get any more ridiculous? She was so prissy and uptight and so unbelievably haughty.

He watched her walk angrily towards his desk before she slammed her books down and sat herself in a chair. He didn't say anything – just looked at her.

"What!" she snapped.

He didn't say anything and continued to look at her.

"Stop it Malfoy! Don't be so childish." she growled. Hermione felt quite unnerved – he made her feel like she was some object on display or for sale.

He didn't say anything and kept looking her.

She sighed with frustration and got out through gritted teeth "We might as well start attempting the charm. I'll get the mouse since you're too lazy to do anything right now –it's not as if you don't always act this way."

Still no response.

Hermione turned red. "Fine! Be that way! I don't care! Just do your work and don't ruin our project!"

She stood up, turned on her heel and marched over to collect their mouse.

Draco smirked. She worked like a charm.


	4. Hierarchy

**Disclaimer:** You figure it out: I'm tired, grumpy and if I did own Harry Potter, I wouldn't be in school, but skiing down the Swiss Alps.

**A/N:** Sorry for the long wait, but I'll probably be updating sooner from now on or starting a new story that I like more than this one. Oh, and if I do continue this story, I will probably rewrite the beginning – quite horribly dull if I do say so myself. They beginning chapters will probably find their way into later ones once everyone actually gets into the fic a bit more. What do you think?

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**Chapter 4:**** Hierarchy**

There was a permanent stillness that hung over the Slytherin common room. The glowing fire didn't give out any heat, and like all other things, was just for display. It was decided different from the other common rooms, with bright lights and somewhat cosy atmospheres. Welcoming, for lack of better word. It almost seemed like a war zone, Draco mused as he swept into the common room and sat in his designated place directly in front of the fireplace. It was the best seat in the common room, reserved only for those of the purest blood and highest esteem.

It was a complex system of hierarchy that governed the Slytherins, but since a year ago, Draco had held the acclaimed place of the Slytherin King. The weak mudbloods sat in the furthest corners of the room, cold and shivering from the chilly draughts. The stronger mudbloods sat with the halfbloods in the shadows, while the purebloods were the only ones who held consort with the King. It had always been like this – as long as Draco could remember. It was all a game; a dangerous and vicious game of cunning, power-plays and sheer ruthlessness.

Even if he couldn't best Granger in a _formal _duel due to the sheer volume of spells she knew if nothing else, he was sure that he would come out on top in an informal one. She was quick, Draco would give her that, but he knew he was at least equal to her in magical potential and knowledge could only get you so far. Underhandedness and cunning, although not entirely honourable, would always give you an advantage. Besides, Draco thought, brushing thoughts of Granger aside, only the strong could rise to the top in Slytherin house. Nobody would help the weak. Everyone was their own responsibilities. It was a battle of wits and wiles – one slip of the tongue and you could be done for.

There were always people waiting in line, ready to take over leadership. They would make their alliances – for there was hardly any friendship in the house – and curry for favour, always waiting and watching for one wrong move. And then they would pounce. If you were lucky, only a mild fall would do. If you weren't, the fall from grace was all that was needed for you to be kicked into the shadows to be forgotten and scorned.

Draco brooded at his seat. It was all in a day's happening. He was lucky, or not so lucky, that his father was Lucius Malfoy, a cruel hard man, but all the more cunning and wily for it. He had been taught with the most careful diligence: what to say, how to plan, everything. For the smallest mistake, he was severely punished. One or two rounds of _crucio_ if he was lucky, and if not, then his father knew many spells even harsher. He always shuddered at the recollection – inwardly of course. It wouldn't do for others to see any weakness on his behalf.

Occasionally, he would feel a yearning to be anywhere else but in Slytherin, but he always crushed that thought viciously. He belonged here. He was their King and they would respect him. He would protect them. Facing such hate from the other houses, especially Gryffindor, Slytherins banded together outside the common room. Nobody knew about the mysterious events within their lair – their business was their own. No matter how 'impure' or 'pure' their blood was, no matter how much they were disliked, any fellow Slytherin who was attacked would have someone backing them up.

That is, all except for the traitors; those few who sucked up to friends outside Slytherins and didn't speak out against any fellow Slytherin being attacked or bullied. That was not to say that that he didn't allow any 'friendships' between houses, but that no matter what happened, loyalty to your own house came first. If not, then that would be the end of the matter. No exceptions.

He sighed, and slumped a bit – almost invisibly. It was all well and good, but he couldn't help but think that things could be, well…better. He was proud of being a Slytherin, make no mistake about that, but right now, some things just felt…wrong, somehow. He did know what it was; he wasn't stupid by all means. It always came down to _him_. That _man_, if you could call him a man. Draco's lip curled in disgust. He was barely human, Voldemort. So intent on killing everything in his path and the Gryffindor Golden Boy that Draco wouldn't be surprised if his heart had rotted all the way through.

Inevitably, thoughts on Potter led once again to Granger. That girl – there had always been something about her that he couldn't put his finger on…

"Draco!"

He sighed in resignation.

"Pansy."

"Draco, darling, where have you been! I've been looking for you absolutely _everywhere_!"

He gritted his teeth at her grating voice. Didn't that woman know when to shut up!

"If you haven't noticed," he bit out, "I have been in the common room. Where else could I be after classes. Wandering through the corridors like an imbecile? In the library like Granger? I think not."

Pansy looked surprised – "I never thought of that. Anyways, we really must go to Hogsmeade next weekend. I saw this wonderful ermine coat. Oh, it was simply beautiful, darling. The finest white fur hood, silver embroidery, trimmed in fae silk, spelled by the finest…" She trailed off with a dreamy look in her eyes.

"You simply must get it for me." She pouted and sat herself down on his lap and stuck her make-up layered face in front of his while adopting a sultry look, "I'll be _very _grateful".

Draco tried not to let his distaste show. "I'm busy next weekend. Now would you please remove yourself from your current position."

Pansy pouted, and succeeded in making her face adopt an even more pug-like appearance, but stood up. She tried one more time. "But Draco, it's been so long since we went out together. I miss you. Can't you just put off your business for one weekend?"

He stared at her blandly. "No."

Draco rose from his place and proceeded to the boys' dormitory without a backwards glance. He didn't know what his father saw in Pansy. She was a nightmare – clingy, whiny, ugly and far less intelligent than his owl. He shuddered at the thought of marrying a creature like her. Nobody deserved such eternal torment.

He sighed as he sat back down on his forest-green satin bed sheets, and got an idea when he saw that Crabbe was in the dorms.

"Vincent! Come here for a moment."

He looked confused, but made his way over to the bed.

"I'm going to try a spell on you, okay? Nothing's going to happen that is really bad. Just stand still."

Crabbe looked decidedly nervous and shifted a bit on his feet, but did as he was told so as not to summon his friend's unpredictable temper.

He slashed his wand in the right motions and muttered the _Aruendas _charm. He was disappointed to see that it did not work. He could usually get the spells on the first or second try, but this just didn't seem to work. He could feel the magic well up in him, so why wasn't it working? He ran a hand frustratedly through his hair.

He fell messily back onto his bed and put his wand on his bedside drawer. He supposed it was normal for spells to be harder these days – it was the NEWT year after all. He looked back to find that Crabbe was still standing there like a clueless ignoramus. It really aggravated him that there was simply no way to reverse the decisions that he had made. He had really been shocked when Crabbe and Goyle had been sorted into Slytherin. Cunning and ambitious his ass! They were dumber than a pair of Pansy Parkinsons and more thick than a fortress wall. How a bunch of complete idiots made it into the noble house of Slytherin, he wouldn't know.

His face darkened. Why did he have to get stuck with such idiots as friends? The only one who he could comfortably talk to was Blaise. He, at least, had some semblance of intelligence.

"Vincent, I'm done now. You can go back to doing whatever you were doing before."

He turned towards the window sharply as a flurry of movement outside caught his attention. Draco felt a sinking sensation deep in the pit of his stomach. The owl's beady eyes zoomed in on his face and looked at him imperiously, as if demanding him to open the closed window. He would recognize that animal anywhere – Lucius had sent him a message.

He released the catch on the window and let the owl in, only to have it swoop over to him and claw his hand – hard.

"Ow! You blasted bird!"

Draco glared at the owl and grabbed a tissue to soak up the blood on his hands. He'd have to disinfect the claw marks – you'd never know where that animal has been.

"You did that deliberately, didn't you? You'd think that after all this time you would stop being so spiteful…"

He continued to mutter to himself as he cleaned all the blood off his hand and disinfected it with a wave of his wand. It was unfortunate that he didn't know enough about healing to fix up the wound. He would have to bandage it.

The owl – Jupiter – settled smugly on top of his dresser after dropping the letter onto his bed. He ruffled himself before preening his feathers – decidedly pleased with causing Draco some pain. Draco stared at it; you would think that after all these years, the stupid beast would have gotten over the time he had dunked it in a pot of yellow paint. He shook his head in disbelief as the owl screeched at him in warning, as if saying 'stay away or bear the consequences'.

Draco glanced dispassionately at the thick expensive parchment of the letter. From that alone he would have recognized who it was from – after all, he thought sarcastically, Malfoys _always_ had the best. Anything less was simply unacceptable. It was sealed with the Malfoy family crest – he could see their family motto:

_Pudicitia, gloria, potestas. Aeterno._

Purity, glory, power. For always.

He scowled at the letter, knowing he was being childish, but was unable to stop himself. Frankly, he didn't want to read the letter. Things weren't the greatest between him and his father the last year or so. There had been an almost imperceptible shift in their relationship that had surfaced after the resurrection of the Dark Lord. The tiny rift had slowly grown larger as Draco had spent more time away from his father and more time at school – away from his influence under the watchful eyes of Dumbledore.

"_Tempus_"

From the tip of his wand shot a stream of luminescent green that coalesced to form a few numbers: 6.15

Dinner had already started in the Great Hall.

"_Finite Incantem_"

He glanced at the letter and then at Jupiter, who was glowering dangerously. He smirked – the letter could wait.

As he swept back into the dungeons, contented and full to the brim with Hogwarts food, Draco, for the first time that year, felt like smiling. But the urge had to be resisted – he had to keep up the Slytherin image. With a slightly less cold eyes, he entered the dorms, only to have a dark blur knock into his face – hard. On second thoughts, he no longer felt like smiling.

Draco scowled at Jupiter. Jupiter scowled back. Draco could feel sweat break out on the back of his neck. Those bloody big eyes that didn't blink bore into him. He had never known just how hard it was to have a staring contest with an owl, and made a mental note to himself to never do that ever again. His eyes were beginning to tear up and he could feel his resolve weakening – damn that bird!

Draco couldn't take it anymore and tore his watering eyes away and cursed. He could almost feel Jupiter gloating, as if his preening were not enough. He caught himself as he turned once again to scowl at the beast, flushing as he realized he was attempting to dominate an owl of all creatures – and losing badly at that. He almost imperceptibly straightened his posture and stiffened as he reminded himself somewhat sarcastically that he was a Malfoy and Malfoys were (of course) above such things as having staring contests with birds.

Jupiter, as if sensing the change in mood, screeched loudly and cuffed Draco over the head with one generously feathered wing. Draco sighed as the owl's message became clear: he wasn't leaving until he opened the letter. He sat down uncomfortably next to the pristine letter and conceded defeat.

He tried to convince himself that it wouldn't be at all bad – that his mother was writing to tell him that she was sending some of his dress robes over in case he ever needed any or of an up and coming ball – but somehow, he couldn't quite make himself believe it.

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**A/N: **The Latin will probably be a bit off, but hey, I'm not a linguistic specialist.


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